Clove
by ABright17
Summary: because love is sometimes all we have to live for


Maybe the sun was too low in the sky, or it had blinded him somehow. He didn't know and not one ounce of him cared.

There's more to life than love, his mother told him. For she knew just how cruel love could become. But Albus never did listen well.

 _(Roses)_

"There's the cabin?" He said it low, methodically whilst Albus chewed his nails and let them bleed.

"My jumper is still in the top draw – I think." He knew. He left it there. Loved having it there. Amongst all of Scorpius' clothes.

Scorpius frowned, and shook his head. "I'll throw it out. Be weird if she found that."

Weird. Albus focused on his shaking hands. Is that what it all boiled down too? Was that all he meant, all he was?

Throw my soul out? He couldn't look at him. When it belongs so entirely to you?

"If that's easier." He said.

Scorpius nodded, sipping his chai latte (soya milk) Albus went with hot chocolate (cream and marshmallows). He hadn't touched it.

"She'll be bringing tonnes of shit. Fill all my draws, even for the one night." He smiled at him. "and the dress is fucking massive so -"

"So?" Albus prompted, because sometimes he loved pain.

A shrug. A sigh. Albus looked at the cakes on the bar top. "It'll take up room. You know how she is." Scorpius said eventually.

And so, do you. That's the tragedy. "I suppose I do." He said. Heart in his eyes and his palms. It shook. It bled right through his finger and down his cheeks.

"I'll pick up our books then as well. Or you could throw them away. We never did finish – " he stopped. The blood was falling into his mouth and rolling down his throat. He shook and he shook his head. The cream in his chocolate was melting.

The chai latte (soya milk) was empty.

 _(Thistle)_

"Very American isn't it?" Lily wore lilac, the same as Albus' shirt. Per request. He'd forgone a tie, it'd strangled his already choked neck.

He nodded. They sipped champagne. Her first. His fourth.

"I just don't see the need in _rehearsing_ anything, you know? Why do it all twice?" Why indeed. "Does look beautiful though. I've never seen the burrow so – elegant."

"I'm surprised Malfoy agreed on it. I thought palaces were more his taste." Albus laughed as he said it. He knew that wasn't true. But he couldn't tell her the truth, could he?

Lily hmmed. "Rosie has her powers of persuasion I'm sure."

His palms were sweating. Surely his heart couldn't sustain its tempo. A fifth champagne made his eyes tear up. A few ran down his cheeks. He pretended to yawn and wiped them with a napkin. It was silver – like Scorpius' –

Fuck.

He ran to the bathroom. Unseeing and without thought. He was swimming in glue, drowning in it with his heart outside of his body. How how how was he still here?

The champagne threatened to come up. His stomach tensed and curdled but no – he wasn't sick. He just hung his head against the porcelain. Let himself cry a little.

"Albus?"

Maybe he was going to be sick.

"Albus, please." He never did beg. That voice never usually wavered.

How could he still be here? Yet, how could he deny his heart? He flushed the toilet and walked out. Of course, he did.

Scorpius was drunk. His silver eyes swam. His pale cheeks red. Lips red. Hair – long because she liked it that way, gelled to his head like a fucking helmet.

"I hate your hair." He said instead of what he wanted. "Looks shit."

Scorpius grinned. "I know. But this way -" he looked at Albus. Up and down him. Perusing.

"What?" He folded his arms, not in defence, so he wouldn't reach out.

"Fucking – well, this way I'm not me am I?" He was drunk if he was sharing that. "You think I'd wear this fucking suit too? Think I'd -" crush me into a thousand pieces? I don't, and I do.

"I really don't know anymore." He said, all truth.

Scorpius' face fell. His eyes resigned. He'd made his decision hadn't he. Why was Albus reaching for him? Taking his face in his hands and –

"We can't – " he said as they drew closer. Inevitably. It had been so long. Too long. A month now.

But they did. Albus couldn't (wouldn't) stop if he tried. It was as probable as the sun rising every morning. It was – it was –

His mouth, the same, like orange and spice, like cinnamon, he held his face, _that face._ All angles and sharp points, it made him bleed, it always did and it always had. But Albus welcomed it. Had since they were seventeen and hiding in broom cupboards around school.

Not much had changed.

Or maybe everything had.

He took what he could. What Scorpius gave him. Perused every inch of him. His mouth, his hair, his body. In that silver lilac suit.

"Let me, let me -" and he didn't wait. He spun him around. Pushed him into the mirror above the sink. Albus saw himself, red and panting. Scorpius behind him, broader and taller. Sucking the back of his neck as his hands pushed down his silver suit pants. They looked crazed, maybe they were.

"Sweetheart – " Scorpius reached around, grabbed him. Tugged. "You are, you are – " he spat in his other hand. Rubbed both hands together – then – _then –_

Albus keened, he'd have screamed if he could. As they joined. Hard and rough. Scorpius dug his fingers into his shoulder and kissed the top of his spine.

"Al, my Al, oh my – Merlin – fuck – " he was frantic, uncensored. He gave Albus no mercy. Not that he wanted any. His hips smacked into the sink with every thrust. His hands slipped down the wall he clung too. The only thing keeping him upright was Scorpius' hands under his arms. He held him. Curled around him..in him. Owned him. Like he always had.

Scorpius drew him up, so his head leant back against his shoulder. The fabric of their suits rubbing together. His teeth pulled at his neck. Licked it from collarbone to lips. Albus chased those lips, those beautiful poisonous things. Battled with that tongue that could cut you and love you in sync.

"Albus, Albus, I'm – " he buried his face in his neck. Teeth digging into the skin. Albus felt that big hand on him, slick with sweat and spit, all his, his lips sucked his ear lobe. Something he loved. As Scorpius yelled silently into his shoulder. Albus bit it, him. As they came together.

The cleaning spell was one they knew well. Albus did it without thinking. But he didn't do it to himself.

It took them a minute to look at each-other. Still panting, half naked.

What are we doing? He didn't say. Because they'd been over that for over ten years. It was a useless conversation. Maybe this was all there would be?

"Don't you want to – " he nodded to the cloth on the side.

Albus – still raw – touched his exposed cheek were some of him still remained, there and within. He almost laughed, cried.

"Get rid of you? No. If this is all I'll ever get – " he looked at him, right in those silver eyes. "then I'm leaving it."

Scorpius was shaking. He looked away and at his hands. Before licking his fingers, deep and long and each one. Albus moaned.

"Is this all we'll ever get?" Albus was drunk. So, he asked.

"You deserve so much more than me." Scorpius said into his sweaty neck.

That wasn't the answer he ever wanted, but it was the one he always received. He put himself back together, suit and jacket and lavender flower against his pocket. He looked in the mirror to do his hair but avoided his face. As he mostly did after.

Scorpius did the same. Quicker. He ran his fingers through his short blonde hair. Raised his eyebrows when they faced each-other again. He reached for him, and Albus was never one to deny him anything. So, he went, his wet face into his shoulder. He wanted so badly to cry as those arms went around him. Held him. He rarely held him.

Maybe this was how it was supposed to be.

 _(Aloe and Acacia)_

They had lavender and lilac everywhere. It was a wonderful colour, very calming.

Albus knew Lilac's (purple) were a symbol of first love. Lilac's (white) were for youthfulness, memories, a remembrance of the past. Initially Rose has wanted white lilacs surrounding her on her wedding day. Scorpius had said white was too much, too plain maybe. So, they went with purple instead.

Lavender was an oxymoron. It's meaning was both devotion and distrust. Of course, it was. Sometimes secrets were unveiled right under your nose.

Maybe Rose had been inspired by the pictures of their great uncle Bill's wedding. Because it was very reminiscent of the past.

Hermione sat beside Draco. What a scandal. She looked beautiful, in a long silver dress. Her hair pinned. Draco looked as he always had. Pristine and elegant. Much like his son.

Ron had forgone the wedding. Having divorced his wife after their son was born. He'd remarried – apparently, to a woman he'd met on holiday in Switzerland. Albus didn't know whether they'd had more children. Neither did Rose.

"You look _dapper_ Albus." Lily held his wrist and grinned. She was tiny. Looked lovely. She'd chosen a pastel violet dress and silver clips for her hair.

Albus ran his hands down his suit. He'd gone for grey. With a lavender shirt. Brown shoes.

"But really – brown shoes?" She said as an afterthought looking down at them. "But won't everyone see them, you'll be standing up front, won't you?"

As best man? Probably.

"Yeah," he said, shaking her off. "I better – "

So, he went to stand beside Scorpius, who he'd left hours earlier. Still sleeping. It was bad luck after all, to see the bride on the night before their wedding.

Scorpius wore silver. Of course, he fucking did. He looked – he looked –

The room swam.

"Albus – " Scorpius put his hand on his shoulder.

But he shoved it off. Roughly. Like it burnt right through his skin, which it did.

"Oh, like that is it." Scorpius muttered under his breath. He turned back, facing the empty place were his wife would soon be.

His wife.

Like that - it would always be.

 _(Foxglove)_

"Always?" Lorcan almost spat out his beer.

Albus shook his head. Running his fingers over the condensation on his glass. "Maybe not, maybe so – "

"You don't know?" James rolled his eyes. "Are you just _trying_ to rhyme? You're a fucking sad case, man."

He drank his beer. "Anyone want another?" Albus stood up. Couldn't look at them as they looked at him.

Lorcan stood up too. He was taller. "You can't always be single man, not always. No one is always alone. No matter how many times we try and say that fucking around is fun. It is, when we're twenty. But we're thirty. It's – it gets old, you know?" He took Albus' glass and went to the bar.

"Love isn't for everyone." He said pointedly to James. "Not everyone needs it to be happy."

"It wouldn't hurt though would it?" His brother replied.

Merlin.

If only he knew.

 _(Sweetbrier)_

"How much?"

He did know, but he lied. "Forty grand, or something, like it matters now."

His father scoffed. He smacked his hands on his desk. "Like hell it matters. Nothing seems to fucking matter to you anymore. That was – fucking hell Albus – it was a once in a lifetime opportunity for someone like you!"

He ignored that. He crossed his arms and leant against the chair his father had told him to sit in. They looked at each-other or glared maybe. The silence was tense, heavy, nothing Albus hadn't dealt with before. He broke it – like he always had.

"Frankly, Dad, it's my decision, and I made the right one for – "

"For who? Certainly not for you. That position was to oversee the entirety of the defence forces within the ministry, a decorated role Albus – "

"I'm sure Finnigan will enjoy the praise he receives." He shrugged. "Wasn't for me."

"Didn't they offer you the commission?" He said, like that meant anything at all.

They had, but Albus said, "No, no commission or vehicle or wand accessory – "

"Don't be smart – "

He shook his head. "I just didn't want it, Dad. That type of thing – it's not for me."

His father raised his eyebrows and leant back in his green leather chair, a present from his wife, "That's absurd. Anyone with half a brain would kill for that position."

"It wasn't for me." He reiterated solemnly, "All the rat-race bullshit – "

"Oh – so you're one of those now. Think the working world is beneath you, do you? Want to fuck off into a hippy dippy commune and pick potatoes from the ground, do you?"

"No." He sighed. "I just don't want to sit behind a desk and bark orders at eighteen years olds until I'm blue in the face and grey on my head, then I become a bitter old man because I did nothing but live for my job and when that's over what do I have left?"

"A noble career, friends, colleagues, success, a fucking wife maybe, merlin forbid a child, a fucking family."

"Grey hair and an alcohol problem. Yippee. Sign me up." He replied. "I just – I've accepted another position anyway."

Harry was silent, his hands were clenched in fists in front of him. He seemed to be taking long deep breathes, Albus nearly laughed. "What is it?" He said eventually.

Albus smiled. "Head Farmer of Lupita Farm near Aylesbury."

"You're fucking joking – "

He was, it was in Ayrshire, really.

 _(Eglantine)_

Lorcan had insisted, and Albus could only say no so many times until he realised his friend would do it all anyway. He was on his fourth firewhiskey, so now, it seemed like a wonderful idea.

"Ebony Glass – " Albus nodded to her as she swung her arm around James' neck.

She scoffed and rolled her blue eyes. She was pretty, very feminine, with long blonde hair and curvy hips. "It's Ebony Potter, you dipshit, James, was he even at the wedding?"

Albus laughed heartily, like he hadn't done in so long. "I remember, Eb, I remember. A great night if I recall." He couldn't, not really.

James nodded, smiled at his wife. Then looked to his brother, he took a gulp of his drink before saying, "No one special coming for you tonight then Al? Teddy said he saw you at the pub with Alissa Senna a couple weeks ago." He looked so earnest as he said it, as if willing Albus to say that yes, in fact, he was with Lissy Senna last week, they were madly in love, married, pregnant.

He shook his head. "She's an old friend, and a farmers daughter, she wanted to give me some tips about sheep rearing and shaving. I can fill you in if – "

Ebony giggled. "Alby, no thanks. All sounds dull as dishwater to us."

Fair enough. He drank the rest of his whiskey and poured another. James engaged in conversation with his wife and Albus just looked around.

Lorcan had invited everyone, most of his old friends from Hogwarts, some from the job they'd once shared at the Leaky Cauldron. None he really knew too well, apart from his brother and sister. His brother and sister who were married, his brother, who never wanted children and his sister who was already carrying one. They would be fine, he smiled happily to himself, when he left, they'd all be fine. They had their own families to care about.

The final guests came when Albus was on the couch, six or seven whiskeys down, his head was banging but if he just led the right way across the settee with his arm over his eyes he could barely feel a thing.

"Here he is!" Lorcan suddenly yelled around laughter. "The fuck took you so long?"

"Oh, you know." Scorpius said, low, like it was all a big secret he'd been fucking his wife before this party.

"Hardy, fucking, ha!" Albus said under his breath. Really, he was surprised he could breath. He hadn't laid his eyes on Scorpius since he'd gotten himself married. He certainly couldn't do it now, when he was sheets to the wind and pissed off.

Lorcan dragged Scorpius somewhere, to the bar (or table of alcohol) probably. Albus took the reprieve to stand up slowly and find a toilet to sit in for a good few hours. Sit and think and sober up.

Nearly there – someone caught his arm, pulled him inside his own bedroom harshly.

"Albus – "

"Fuck off – " he said instead of his name. The name he'd been saying since he was eleven and shouting since he was eighteen. Loving since he was –

"Albus, please –" He lunged for his arm, but Albus shook him off.

Then he finally looked up, looked up at him, right in his stupid fucking face. Which wasn't stupid at all. Angelic really, regal and elegant and beautiful. He'd grown a beard, or stubble perhaps was a better word. It was as blonde as the hair on his head, which was, as always, looking ridiculous, slicked back just like his father had it. Curling up at the nape of his neck like he thought he was some type of vampire. Maybe he was, he was cold enough.

The dark circles under his eyes counted from the vampiric theory also, and the red around his silver pupils. He looked – he looked like he hadn't been sleeping.

"Vampires aren't even _supposed_ to need sleep, so, you're a fucking idiot." He said, rolling his eyes, like it made all the sense in the world. "And, I had spaghetti for tea, so, watch out, garlic breath."

"What? Albus, what are you talking about?"

"Like it fucking matters, bitch." He spat, before laughing, and flicking his hand out, dismissing him. He went to walk out, but Scorpius tugged on the back of his too-big emerald green jumper, which was once his. He pulled him back until he met his chest. Until his pounding head rested against his shoulder. Scorpius leant down, kissed his forehead.

"I miss you, where have you been? I've sent you your letters, so many letters I ran out of that ink you like, the green one, but I never got a reply from you. Not one." He kissed his forehead again, before his hand crept into his hair and yanked his head around to face him.

"Ow." It didn't hurt, and Scorpius knew he'd always loved that action, but still –

"I'm sorry." He pulled at the curls in his hair. Watching his fingers work through them. "I'm so sorry."

Merlin. How many times had he heard that from that mouth? How many times had he been bleeding on the floor and those words had stopped the flow? He was bleeding now, from his heart right through the jumper that wasn't his, right onto Scorpius own chest. But those words –

"What the fuck are you sorry for?" He bit out eventually. But the words seemed lazy and overused, like there was nothing _to_ them, despite Albus' crumbling façade.

Scorpius just shook his head.

Everything then, Albus deduced, as he pushed away from the man and managed to walk away before turning to ash on the bathroom floor.

 _(Thorn-apple)_

He thought about it long and hard. But the lady at the bank only had so much time, so he finally settled on something, and anything was better than before.

The first person he told it too was Gabriel (Gabe) who was so lovely and wholesome and had glorious skin. Gabe was tanned, with black hair and blue eyes. He had more freckles than Albus and said his father was Italian, Albus said his father was racist and they had laughed.

They became lovers before they became friends and Albus found that he preferred it that way, there was no pretences then, they knew who they were and what they meant to each-other. Gabe had been hurt before, he said, had his heart broken when his boyfriend of three years had left him for another man. Albus told him that he'd been hurt too, because everyone gets hurt, don't they?

His farm kept him busy. He tended sheep and cattle and pigs, a few goats as well, when he could handle it. Nothing fazed him, and he wasn't ever bored. Nights were taken up by Gabe and in the days, he tended his animals. There was no time for ponderings or reflections.

"There was this letter outside," Gabe said as he came in one October morning, "Fucking owl beside it as well, beautiful thing, white with yellow eyes."

"Lovely." Albus kissed him and took the letter from his hands.

Gabe made them tea, and Albus buttered bread, and when they sat down Albus tried to tuck the letter into his pocket. But Gabe saw, and he scowled.

"Don't think it's for you, got some crazy name on it, sounds like something my aunt Chantel would name her eighth baby." They laughed. "What type of name is Albus?"

Albus drank his tea. "I know right?" He said.

 _(Houseleek)_

His wand sometimes made a sound, like a fizz, when he left it too long without doing any magic. A spell a week would usually be alright. Just something small, like alohamora, or wingardium leviosa. He felt bad when he did it though, each time. As if he was dishonouring himself by ignoring his magic so blatantly. It would remind him of the life he had had, of who he had been and what he was once capable of.

He wasn't that person anymore, and each time he packed the wand away back into the hidden part of the cupboard beside his bed, he had to remind himself of that.

The letter's kept on coming.

One – without fail – every Thursday. He never opened one, just saw it and took it from Morty, the Owl that Albus had named when he was twenty years old and thought he was funny. Gabe told him to return to sender, but that's not how these letters worked. And he knew, that if he sent them back, he'd only receive more. He told him he'd tried but they kept coming, he told him it didn't matter, they were only letters after all.

Only letters after all. Which he'd lay awake at night, beside a sleeping Gabe, and hold in his shaking hands. Tempting himself to just lift the corner, just to peep at a word, a single dot above an I. A name maybe, signed, in that way he always loved. Just a quick glimpse at the green ink he knew he always used. But time would run out, Gabe would move or snore or wake up and Albus always lost his nerve.

 _(Jonquil)_

Susan had just given birth. Three beautiful healthy lambs. He'd helped, along the Victoria, the local vet, and even though his arms were still speckled with sheep blood he couldn't stop smiling.

"So proud of you!" Gabe hugged him fiercely, kissing him thoroughly, "Mister midwife you, woah, I can't believe I missed it, how are the lambs doing, all okay?"

They were all sitting in his front garden, overlooking the hills surrounding the Scottish countryside. He gave Gabe a beer and Victoria a wine and they settled against the wooden furniture he'd only recently painted blue. It matched his front door.

"He was amazing. Gabe. I thought, you know, first time and all a lot of them pale atleast, one guy totally flaked one time, past out in all the embryonic fluid."

"Nice." Gabe said. "Poor dude, was he okay?"

"Completely put off it for life, he paled every-time I'd tell him another ewe was pregnant." They all laughed at that.

"Lambs are good though, all walking and baaing and suckling like usual."

"Your steady hand probably aided them safely into the world, like a proud papa." Gabe beamed at him.

Albus rolled his eyes, smiling. "Not like I'm their father is it? That would be – "

"Incredible." Victoria laughed.

"Incredibly disturbing," Gabe countered, rubbing Albus' neck.

After Victoria left and the sun set behind the hills, Albus wrapped his arms around Gabriel and thought this could perhaps be his life, for now and for forever. He was laughing, smiling, earnestly enjoying himself again. His magic could be sustained without anyone knowing. Just because he had another name in another life didn't mean what he was doing was wrong. He might tell Gabe who he once was eventually, it's not like it mattered, really. Albus Potter wouldn't need to be remembered.

He fell asleep, in their handmade wooden carved bed, with their pictures all around the room, warm and content.

In the morning Gabe held him close, he kissed him all over, from head to toe before laying atop him and kissing his mouth. He looked him in the eyes, grinned until his freckled cheeks dimpled and he said,

"I love you."

Albus just stared at him.

And he couldn't say it back.

"Oh," Gabe said eventually, his smile dying as he rolled off and stood up, in all his naked glory. "Right."

Albus didn't move, couldn't move. Like his bones had fused to the bed. His lips weren't working, his tongue was too big and dry in his mouth. He just watched, as Gabe dressed, took his toothbrush from the sink and –

"Are you going to say nothing, Alex? After over a year? What was this to you?"

What was this to you?

He didn't know.

Or maybe he did.

This was Albus Potter trying to be happy, finding something instead of having nothing at all.

"You deserve better than me." He said in a voice unlike his own.

Gabriel left after that, and Albus could not even bring himself to feel hurt.

 _(Asphodel)_

It took him three weeks to start reading them. He held his wand in one hand and the letters in the other. He sat on the floor against his bed, the letters he'd poured from their confines littered all around him.

He couldn't even count how many there were.

 _Dearest Albus, Dear Albus, My Albus, Darling Albus, My love, Albus,_

He wrote him every Thursday.

Told him how his life had been. How he'd become a leader in the Wizengamot. How he'd won some cases, how he'd lost them. He'd been on holiday three times in the last two years. Ireland, America, Australia. Each time he'd gone alone, for weeks and a month (Australia) on end. He said they were his most wonderful times. He'd imagined them there together, where no one knew the men they were. How they would be free to be who they longed to be, just two men, in love, together.

He wrote in that green ink he always had, that Albus loved. That Albus traced with his finger with tears in his eyes.

Scorpius never mentioned his wife, or his marriage, or how their families were doing. Maybe he knew that Albus didn't want to hear that, because he really didn't, he wanted what he got. Over and over again. Declarations of a life they could (should) have had.

 _From, Scorpius, From your, Scorpius, Yours, Scorpius, Always, Scorpius, Love, Scorpius,_

Albus slept in the green jumper he'd taken, he curled it around himself, even though the smell had long changed. He held it under his cheeks as he cried, as he cried and cried.

 _(Protea)_

It was a new year.

Albus went to the pub again and saw Gabe where he apologised until the man relented and they sat at the bar like old friends. He hugged him as he left, because Gabe had moved on, he'd found someone worthy of his love, someone better than Albus could ever be.

By now the patrons new him and he knew them. In such a small village, it was hard to be a stranger. Some joined him, asked how the farm was holding during the colder months, fine, fine, he said and smiled, all is fine, because it was.

When he had a moments peace, and after a few too many wines, he rolled out a piece of paper (parchment) on the bar top and scribbled out a note.

The post box wasn't far, on his way home, through the snow he shoved it through the letterbox without thinking, because if he thought about it, he'd entirely stop himself. But he didn't, it pushed through and fell-down.

He didn't sleep that Wednesday night. He lay in the green jumper. Staring at the golden ceiling he'd painted in the summer. Willing the hours to tick tock by so he could get on with his life, be it one way – or the other.

Relenting to his sleepless night, Albus took out his wand from it's confines, and it vibrated in his hand, he levitated a chair in the kitchen before bringing the wand into his room. He thought about carving it into something else, a pencil maybe? A decorative pen? He could use it in public and people, the muggles he lived amongst, would never know.

But no, he couldn't risk it. And had no use for a wand anymore. His threat would no longer be a magic one, but a very muggle one. He couldn't ever allow himself to go back there, to be that person who was so terrified of being himself. Hiding within plain sight of those who were supposed to love him the most, but never would. Because they had never known him, nay, he'd never known himself.

 _(Jasmine, Heliotrope, Ylang-Ylang)_

He'd almost forgotten.

And he sure wouldn't be using it anytime soon (or ever again), but he was entirely grateful for it at that moment.

The sun was low in the sky, as snowflakes swirled in the bitter, blistering wind. It blinded him. But he knew what was walking towards him anyway, because he never would forget it.

He held his arms out, not censoring himself at all, he couldn't, he wouldn't, ever again.

With the force of it, they fell backwards into the snow. They laughed, heartily, joyfully, as if they hadn't been able to laugh in too many years.

Albus laughed so hard he started to cry. Sobs. But he wouldn't stop them. He just gripped on, gripped his freshly cut hair, spikey wet with the snow. Albus' was long now, so long that he tied it up when he was on the farm, sometimes he plaited it, he'd always wanted too.

Scorpius held him back. Vice-like. As if a single hair breadth between them would destroy the moment. It wouldn't, because nothing would, nothing ever could again.

He wore a bright yellow peacoat with black buttons that Albus had bought for him on his twenty-first birthday. He'd loved it, but never worn it before. Ever. Albus had the green jumper on, of course.

"You came?" Albus managed, his face in his hair.

"I'm never leaving." Scorpius replied.


End file.
